


Sellswords Self-Care, Part 3

by sno4wy



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Artemis taking care of Jarlaxle, Intimacy, Jarlaxle uses seduction as distraction, Jarlaxle's secret weakness, M/M, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sexual Tension, jartemis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sno4wy/pseuds/sno4wy
Summary: Of all the things that they could be doing while Jarlaxle's laying naked on the bed, Entreri chooses an activity that quite disagrees with the drow. The mercenary will do anything to try to change the assassin's mind. Entreri's willpower is legendary, but is it any match against Jarlaxle's deviousness?





	Sellswords Self-Care, Part 3

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a post-canon timeline that assumes the two have been together and sexual activities are common.

"Nine Hells Jarlaxle, did you steal the toes from your diatryma?"

The assassin was frowning at the foot resting in his lap, both eyebrows raised. Five long-nailed toes wiggled at him.

"He wasn't using them!" sing-songed Jarlaxle from behind, the melodious notes ending in a chuckle. 

"Not anymore in any case," Entreri muttered back. 

The note of trepidation in the mercenary's musical tone didn't escape the assassin's notice. The astonished man gently patted the smooth ankle before wrapping his fingers firmly around it, his left digits testing the spring of the clippers held within them. The rasp of metal was soft, but Entreri knew that the drow's keen ears heard them, and his companion soft whimper confirmed his expectation.

"Ah, must we do this, my  _abbil_?" Jarlaxle asked, far from the first time.

His plaintive inquiry received an uncharacteristically curt and resolute, "Yes."

The skillful human's grasp tightened around the black ankle, even though it had not yet tried to pull away. 

"I do not enjoy finding your gouges underneath my leathers at the most inopportune times."

"But I am always careful to point my toenails away from you when we're sleeping!"

"That may be true, but you rarely sleep, and these--" Entreri pulled his calf onto the bed and pushed up the trouser leg to reveal a line of crescent-shaped scabs, "-- are not from those occasions!"

A lopsided quirk of the mercenary's lips drew the assassin's gaze onto the drow's perfectly-balanced countenance  Ruby eyes sparkled alluringly. "Truly, there must be more...  _entertaining_  activities that we could engage in, given our present circumstances...?"

Heat rose unbidden in Entreri's cheeks. Though his eyes were still affixed to Jarlaxle's face, he suddenly became very aware of the span of bared ebony skin stretching the distance between their gazes. He abruptly and unwillingly became acutely aware of the hints of lavender hanging in the air, wafting off of the tantalizingly smooth surface below him. He felt it beckon him to bend his face towards it so he could more readily and deeply breathe in the seductive aroma.

The spell was broken by the mercenary's lazy yawn, but it was only so that a different one could be cast. Languidly, a black arm lifted to tuck beneath the bare head, but Entreri knew that, as with everything with the clever mercenary, the gesture was hardly coincidental. Under the guise of adopting a more comfortable pose, the lithe drow presented the assassin with the perfect perspective that flattered every already nigh-impeccable feature. The smooth line that flowed from Jarlaxle's beautifully curving skull lost none of its grace as it traced his long, elegant neck down his limber frame. It commanded the disciplined human's gaze so fully that Entreri could only force his eyes to linger briefly upon the steady rise and fall of the ebony chest. Yet, even that measure of resistance only served to draw him further into his companion's bewitchment, as it called to the assassin's mind turbulent motion of that same chest as he took in his companion's supple hips. Hips that were strategically arced, Entreri knew, and not because the drow's leg was bent around to rest his foot in the human's lap. 

Yet, despite his full cognizance of Jarlaxle's game, Entreri felt his body starting to turn, his hand sliding upwards from the mercenary's ankle, his fingers splaying as the form they traced widened. He saw the drow's small smile of victory, but he didn't care, for the silk underneath his palm was too addictive, and he craved more. The foot slid from his lap, reminding the assassin of the sharp implement still grasped in his other hand, and he stretched out his other arm to feel for a ledge or surface upon which to discard the object. 

Finally, after what felt like a thousand heartbeats, his mind pulled in two conflicting directions by desire and pragmatism, Entreri sent the clippers clattering away and hungrily pounced on the seductive drow, a low growl in his throat. 

A growl that transformed into a sharp yelp. Wide gray eyes shot down to that which stabbed him in the gut. 

Neither bolt nor dagger lodged in the assassin's abdomen. Instead, Entreri beheld his companion's foot, as elegant as the rest of the drow, and no less deceptively deadly. 

The surprised man drew a long, deep breath, and raised his steady gaze to his companion's face. The same smile from before was frozen on Jarlaxle's visage, but all sense of victory was gone from it. Then, even the smile faltered, for the assassin seized the slender ankle again, then turned and reassumed his previous position. Solemnly, one hand found the clippers again, while the other drew the foot into his lap once more.

"Ah, Artemis?" 

Entreri closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against the sultry siren song.

A gasp escaped his lips as he felt something skillfully stroke the tightness in his trousers. The assassin's eyes snapped open and saw that his right hand was empty, its quarry having escaped during his moment of distraction. 

"Jarlaxle," Entreri attempted to chide, but instead of firm tones, he emitted only near-breathless syllables.

The befuddled man felt his companion's other leg wrap around him, then the mercenary's body against his back. The thin fabric of his shirt might as well have not been there at all, so intensely did he feel the drow's heat. Hot breaths blew across his cheekbone as teeth and tongue tickled the back of his ear, and his quickened breaths turned into a moan as deft ebony fingers superseded the already skillful ministrations at his groin. 

"Artemis..."

The drow's whisper sent shivers down his spine. Hunger to hear that same musical voice loudly extol his his name pounded hot blood through his veins, and the assassin turned to capture the teasing, provocative lips with his own, when--

"Ouch!"

Entreri roughly batted the offensive stinging from his leg. He frowned down at the source of the pang, blinking a few times as he willed his eyes to focus. A line of crescent-shaped indents winked back at him.

"Jarlaxle, are you trying to distract me?" the assassin's exasperation and disbelief at himself kept his voice even this time.

"You wound me, my  _abbil_. I would not go so far to distract you." 

The mercenary's tone was hurt, and Entreri knew it to be unfeigned. Still, while he didn't doubt his companion's words, he also knew the unintended partial-truth to them.

Sighing, the assassin placed a hand on Jarlaxle's bare chest and gently but firmly pushed him back down against the bed. Then, he turned, yet again, and once more drew the drow's foot into his lap. He carefully found the clippers with his own foot and shuffled it close until he could secure it in his fingers once more.

A defeated exhale sounded from behind him. "Must you, truly?"

"I must." 

Entreri's grip tightened around the Jarlaxle's ankle. Unlike his own feet, the mercenary's foot looked as though it belonged to someone who never had to walk, or better yet, on the leg of an exquisitely-crafted marble statue. There were no callouses on the knuckles or joints, and the nails on the ends of each toe were almost as unblemished as those on the drow's fingers.

_Almost_ , Entreri noted. Despite Jarlaxle's doubtlessly careful maintenance, his toenails had thickened, with minor fractures hidden underneath the smooth superficiality.

"Why did you let them go for so long?" Entreri chided. All he received was a whine in response, but he hardly minded, for both of them knew his question to be a rhetorical one. Using the flat of one of the clipper blades, the assassin pushed back the flesh from the toenail to ease the cutting edge closer, when--

"Ow!"

The big toe jerked away from his clippers.

"What?"

"It hurt!"

"I haven't even cut anything yet!"

"But it still hurt!"

Entreri sighed and set his grip around his companion's foot. "It wouldn't be so bad if you hadn't gone so long without trimming them."

Jarlaxle just whimpered.

"Hold still and it'll be over quick."

Entreri secured the Jarlaxle's big toe between his thumb and first two fingers, then brought the clippers in again. Predictably, the mercenary tried to flinch free once more, but the assassin had him firmly in his grasp. Despite his companion's protests of pain, the meticulous human drew no blood, instead neatly trimming a tight arc conforming to the shape of the nail bed.

"How's that?"

Jarlaxle didn't answer.

The assassin shrugged, and followed suit with the rest of the toenails, then did the same with the ones on the other foot. Jarlaxle flinched when Entreri pushed against the big toe like he did to the other one, but otherwise remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the process.

The silence persisted even after the clippers clattered against the nightstand. Entreri turned and quirked an eyebrow at his perfectly still companion, whose eyes were shut.

"Are you dead?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes."

Entreri snorted. "Then, I guess you wouldn't mind the next part."

Both legs immediately withdrew, or rather, attempted to, but Entreri held them tight.

"What now?" Jarlaxle wailed.

The assassin had already taken up a different implement.

"You've done so much already, is that really necessary?"

"Yes." Entreri's tone was firm, not cold, but the grating sensation against Jarlaxle's exposed nail bed sent icy spasms up his leg.

Despite his quick and deliberate motions, the careful human worked the file with efficient precision. He knew his companion's sensitivity, and although he was satisfied to rid both of them of the nuisance, he derived no pleasure from Jarlaxle's discomfort.

"We wouldn't have to do this if you'd cut your toenails more frequently," Entreri chided gently. "Your nails have split and are growing out of separate areas. Why do you not cut them down?"

"I don't enjoy feeling my toes."

The assassin nodded, knowing this fact even though he didn't relate to it. He didn't enjoy feeling his own toes, but having sensation there had become necessary for him.

After filing smooth the final toenail, Entreri ran his palm across the top of the shortened edges. The foot retreated from his grasp.

"What's wrong?"

"TOES!"

"Not good?"

"No!"

Entreri smiled despite himself. This part was always amusing.

"Try feeling the sheets with them."

Jarlaxle gingerly curled his toes against the newly-laundered sheet, then wailed and splayed the stubby digits out again.

"You don't like that?"

The mercenary vigorously shook his head, his knees up and his feet one on top of the other, toes curled inwards.

The assassin chuckled and eased his companion's legs back down against the bed, then coaxed the obsidian-skinned toes to uncurl. His task complete, Entreri's pragmatism relinquished its suppression, and his hunger pulled him over the irresistibly nude dark elf.

"Where were we?" the lustful man whispered as he leaned in. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the mingling of his own breath with his companion's, and the rush of blood down from his brain in anticipation of their lips meeting... when instead, his lips met something unexpectedly firm and hard.

Entreri's eyes snapped open and stared into a black-skinned palm. "What--?"

Jarlaxle's handsome features were contorted.

"What? What is it?" The assassin threw himself off to the side and studied his companion with great concern.

The mercenary looked as though he'd drank a bottle of acid. Quivering at the opposite end of the bed drew Entreri's gaze to the rapidly curling and uncurling toes there.

"Jarlaxle, what--?"

" _I CAN FEEL THE AIR MOVING OVER MY TOES!!!_ "

The assassin stared at Jarlaxle for a long, quiet breath. Then, wordlessly, he slid off the bed and pulled on his boots.

"Artemis? Where are you going?"

Jarlaxle was still laying on the bed, but he lifted his head to look quizzically at the assassin.

"Away," Entreri answered as he stalked out of the room.

* * *

 

From his perch atop the roof, the shivering man looked longingly at the dock in the distance. Despite his already-clattering teeth, hot blood still pounded through his veins. He would've liked to plunge into the icy sea, but the cold night air would have to suffice.


End file.
